Moments in Time
by Tanya Reed
Summary: Sydney through Randall's eyes.


Moments in Time

by Tanya Reed

You knew it was almost time for one of my strange little internal one shots, didn't you? This one's from Randall's point of view. I'm not sure if I'm completely satisfied with how this one turned out, but I've edited it all that I can. Now I'm setting it free. I hope you like it. Also, I guess this takes place in the same timeline as "Notes from the Past" because it contains a couple of things alluded to in that story.

I have no idea if I've spelled Mandela correctly. For some reason, my auto correct wants to use the last name Mandela, and refuses to let me spell the word any other way. That's okay, I suppose, considering I don't know how to spell the word anyway.

Disclaimer: I don't own Randall, Sydney, or Nigel. I don't really own Rosemarie either, though I gave her her name.

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She was so tiny.

That was his first impression as the smiling nurse placed the baby in his arms. He had never been around babies much, and he was surprised at how his large hands made his daughter almost disappear.

His daughter. Even the thought of the word made a million emotions rush through him. Foremost among them was fear, happiness, and wonder. He had known Sydney's birth would change his life forever, but holding her this way drove it home. He was a father.

Randall Fox studied the little girl in his arms. She was dark with a small, round face and lots of hair. Her eyes were open, and she seemed to be regarding him as solemnly as he was regarding her. He didn't see much of himself in her face, for which he was grateful. She had her mother's coloring and what he thought might develop into her grandmother's healthy beauty. He wondered who her heart and soul would favour. In this, he hoped he would find a kindred spirit in her.

Not that he would be disappointed if she took after Rosemarie. There were a lot worse things to be than gentle and giving. His eyes went to the bed and took in his wife. She slept peacefully, with a slight smile on her face. She looked young in sleep, as if she were barely more than a child herself.

Randall took the chair by the bed so he could watch Rosemarie while he held Sydney. The baby in his arms stirred as he sat, thrusting a little hand out from the blanket.

Once more, he wondered what kind of person she would turn out to be. He hoped that, no matter what, she would always be true to herself. As he looked at her, he knew there were some things he had to say, and he didn't know if he'd be brave enough to say them when she was old enough to understand them.

"Sydney," he said softly, trying out the name. He liked the way it sounded coming from his lips. "Life is hard, but I think you'll be able to make it. I'll be here to help you as much as I can. My job is to believe in you. You can lean on me when you need to. Your job is to live life to the fullest. Whatever you do, do it well, and don't let anyone tell you what you can and can't do. Always listen to your heart and trust your instincts. They'll always show you the way. Be fair and kind, but don't let anyone step all over you. Most of all, I want you to love, my little Sydney. Love life. Love adventure. Love your friends and family with all your heart. Do that, and never worry about who will love you back, because you'll always have me."

She waved her hand at him again and he caught and held it. It felt so fragile in his fingers that it scared him. There was so much out there that could hurt such a delicate thing. He swore to himself that he would protect her. More than that, he would teach her how to protect herself.

"We have a lot to learn together, you and me."

Sydney yawned and closed her eyes. Randall smiled and held her closer as she softly drifted off into sleep. For this moment in time, he was completely content.

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Randall sat in his backyard, a cold drink in his hand. His whole body felt weary. He had been working non stop on his latest project with almost no sleep for a week. It felt like heaven to be sitting in the sunshine knowing he had the whole day to himself.

Childish laughter surrounded him as two girls burst out from the house. Randall smiled as he watched them. His daughter always seemed to run everywhere. She was quicker than her companion, a local girl who was as blond as Sydney was dark.

Sydney was small for her age but fast and graceful. She was also fearless, something that sometimes filled her mother's nights with terror. She didn't like to be fast or climb high; she had to be the fastest runner and the highest climber. There was nothing she wouldn't try, and failure didn't bother her—it just made her try harder. She had a whole drawer full of ragged clothes and the frequent bruises and abrasions to prove it.

His favorite ball of energy stopped when she saw him. Her dark mop of hair hung in flyaway waves around her face, and her eyes twinkled with the laughter she had just been expressing.

"Hi, Dad!" She always sounded so happy to see him that he sometimes felt guilty about the time he missed when he was working on a hard project.

"Hey, Scootchie!" he said, raising his glass.

Without hesitation, she came to the chair and jumped into his lap. "I didn't expect you home today."

Her friend, seeing Sydney had stilled for a moment, dropped tiredly to the grass. Randall smiled at her before putting a loose arm around Sydney's shoulders.

"We finished two days early, so I came home to relax and spend some time with my favorite family."

"Does that mean you'll play with me later?"

"All you want, I promise. Right now, though, I think I'll just watch you and Heidi."

Sydney gave him as tight a hug as her two little arms could. In his ear, she whispered, "You're going to sleep in your chair, aren't you?"

Randall laughed loudly and pulled her head close so he could kiss her forehead. "You know me too well."

She struggled free and threw him a wild grin. She reminded Randall of pure joy.

"Enjoy your nap!"

With that, she jumped to her feet, and Heidi did the same. Sydney looked back and waved to him before taking off at a reckless run once more. Despite his intention to sleep, Randall watched her for a long time.

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"Can't this wait?" she asked, her brows drawn together in a frown. "I'm supposed to meet Chris. I don't want to be late."

Randall studied his daughter solemnly as she stood before him with her hands clenched and her eyes snapping. They were so full of anger. Every time he saw her lately, it seemed that anger was simmering just below the surface. There was something else there too, buried underneath the anger so she wouldn't have to look at it. Randall knew what it was because he saw it in himself. It was pain.

In the two years since Rosemarie's death, Randall had seen Sydney go from a happy, loving tomboy to a wild and harsh pre-teen who had almost virtually cut him out of her life. He didn't know who she was more afraid of revealing her hurt to—him or herself.

As he watched her struggling through it, he had often wished there was something he could do to help her face what seeing Alastair Newell and her mother die had done to her. He tried, but every time he reached for her, she turned away.

He ached with loss. On the day his gentle wife had finally succumbed to the illness she had been so bravely fighting, he had lost the two people he loved most—his wife and his daughter. Today, he had decided he was tired of watching helplessly. Now, it was time to get Sydney back.

"No, Sydney, it can't wait," he told her. He hadn't called her Scootchie in a long time. It was hard to call someone so hard and prickly by such a sweet nickname.

She sighed heavily and dropped her coat on the floor. "All right, but make it quick."

Randall kept his face expressionless as he watched her march into the living room. He didn't want to show her that he knew this was going to be the hardest conversation of his life.

Sydney flopped onto the couch and flung her legs over the coffee table. She was the picture of defiant teenage angst. Thirteen going on thirty, as the expression went.

Randall swallowed hard and reminded himself to show no fear. Though Sydney had finally started to grow taller, and it seemed as if she might even be tall one day, she still looked tiny and fragile to him. Knowing she was in pain made him reluctant to hurt her more, but he knew that the pain was eating her from the inside out just as surely as the cancer had her mother.

He sat beside her, and she inched away slightly. Her dark eyes regarded him from behind their wall of anger.

"You wanted to tell me we're moving again, right?" she demanded. "We're going back to the States—California—in August. I heard you on the phone."

He opened his eyes in surprise at her attack. "As a matter of fact, yes we are. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

"There's something worse?"

"Not something worse," he said firmly, "but something way more important. I want to talk about you."

"This isn't going to be the facts of life talk is it? Because, I think you made most of it abundantly clear when you told me the first time."

Randall's thoughts flashed back to a nine year old Sydney's earnest question about how babies were made. That had been another difficult and awkward conversation.

"No, Sydney, this isn't about sex and I'm not trying to accuse you of anything. I just want to talk to you. I want to talk about your mother."

She recoiled as if he'd slapped her, and the anger went up a notch. It seemed to crackle from the ends of her hair.

"Dad, I've really got to go." Her voice was tight and strained.

She moved to get up, but Randall stilled her with a gentle touch on her arm. Her eyes went to his hand and she stared at it, her face unreadable. Her jaw worked as if her teeth were clenched, and her whole body tensed.

"Chris can wait, Scootchie."

The eyes raised from his arm to his face. "Dad, I'm not three anymore."

"No, you're not. Things were a lot easier then." He paused for a moment, giving both of them time to prepare for what was coming. "Honey, I know you miss her."

"What do you know?" she spit out, yanking her arm away.

"I know you. No matter how much you try to hide yourself from me. I held you right after you were born. I watched your first steps. I brought you to your first day of school. I can see your pain."

"Newsflash, Dad. Mom's dead."

"Yes, she's dead. It's been two years, and you think you should be over it by now. It still hurts, and that makes you angry. Anger can't take the pain away."

She stared at him, her eyes blazing with fury. It was so strong that she was unable to speak.

"You'll always miss her. You're afraid you'll forget her, but you won't—not the good things. They'll always be in your heart. You'll have to let the anger go to be able to see them.

'Rosemarie was a wonderful person. I loved her more than I've ever loved anyone in my life, except for you. I miss her too. I hurt too. Sometimes, the pain is so bad that the only reason I get up in the morning is because of you."

Sydney's gaze never wavered but it softened slightly.

"You miss her?" she asked.

"Of course, I do."

"Do you get a hard lump in your stomach sometimes? One that makes you want to either throw up or scream?"

Randall nodded honestly.

"And it's never going to go away?"

"I don't know. I know we'll always love her. I know we'll always miss her. I hope it will get easier. At least we won't have to face life without her alone."

Sydney dropped her eyes and bit her lip. Her hands twisted together in her lap.

She whispered, almost pleading, "Why do people have to die? Scarface shot Dr. Newell, killed him like he was nothing. Then, Mom died. She got sicker and sicker. There was nothing I could do. I should have been able to do something..."

"It's awful being helpless."

He reached out and put his hand firmly on her shoulder. When her eyes met his again, the anger had shattered, leaving only the pain. She looked both too old for her years and like the innocent little girl she had once been.

At his touch, she did something she hadn't done for years. She threw herself into his arms and started to cry. Randall knew how proud Sydney was, and he knew how much the tears cost her. He put his own arms around her and pulled her into his lap. Knowing the time for words was over, he silently rocked his daughter and stroked her hair.

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She was very beautiful. Confident. Proud. Determined. There was not a timid bone in her lithe and muscular body. Even so, when he looked at her, he still saw the little girl he always had. He supposed he always would.

He watched her now as she sat talking to that assistant of hers. Randall approved of Nigel. He seemed a loyal, steady young man, and his presence seemed to curb some of Sydney's more outlandish impulses. In short, he seemed to be good for her.

The three of them had just returned to Randall's home after retrieving the Mandela. It was the first time he'd ever seen Sydney on a hunt, and he was highly impressed. He knew what she did for a living, and he knew she could fight—he'd taught her how to box himself—but the knowledge of it and the reality were two different things.

He had never been so proud of her. She had grown up so well, and it amazed him that he'd had some hand in that.

Their earlier conversation about her mother went through his mind. His announcement that he was getting remarried brought back to her the pain of Rosemarie's death. It was gentler now than it had been but still sharp. He had tried his best to sooth it away while his own heart ached.

Thinking of the men in Fetter's office just a little while later, it amazed him how quickly she could go from vulnerable to deadly. One moment, she was Randall's little girl, hurt and angry over Randall's choice of woman, and the next a professional fighting machine. Nigel, for his part, seemed used to the transition. After Sydney had unceremoniously shoved him out of the way, the boy kept his head while chaos was erupting all around him.

As the two relic hunters talked now, Sydney's whole body was tense with anticipation. The Mandela was clutched in her slim hand. Her face was earnest as she spoke, but the couple was talking too lowly for Randall to hear the words.

As if feeling his eyes on her, Sydney's attention wavered from Nigel for a moment. She looked up and smiled at Randall, none of her anger about Jenny in her face. The smile brought out her dimples and made her look very young. He smiled back.

The moment was broken when Nigel gently took the Mandela from her fingers to study it. Sydney turned curiously to her assistant with one eyebrow raised.

"Do you think it could have a secret compartment?" he asked, running his fingers along the jade.

"I don't know," she answered, standing up and stretching. "Let's move to the table and see if we can coax it into giving up its secrets."

A million memories went through Randall's head as he watched her move across the room. He saw her first steps, her first punch, her first date. He saw the day she left him to go to college, and the day she came to him after finding her first relic. He wondered if she knew how glad he was that she was his daughter. He would have to tell her someday. Maybe today, after they found the Jade Empress.

"Dad?" she was looking at him strangely. "Are you all right?"

"Sure, Scootchie. Let's make that Mandela talk."

The End


End file.
